


In Which Hermione Potter Discovers the Muggles Have Made a Holiday of her Birthday

by ap_aelfwine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, F/F, F/M, Hermione would like to remind you that privateering is not piracy, Hermione's birthday, International Talk Like A Pirate Day, Letters of Marque and Reprisal, Multi, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Privateer does not equal pirate, Privateer ≠ Pirate, Tin Foil Hats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 13:30:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5050375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ap_aelfwine/pseuds/ap_aelfwine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It seems that the Muggles have made a holiday of your birthday.”<br/>“Really?”<br/>“Yes. They call it 'International Talk Like a Pirate Day,' or so I'm given to understand.”<br/>“For Merlin's sake! I was never a pirate. I had a letter of marque and reprisal, so I did.” A hint of her grandparents' West Country accent crept into Hermione's voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Hermione Potter Discovers the Muggles Have Made a Holiday of her Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my annual fic for Hermione's birthday. As usual, I've been overwhelmed with RL, so it's going up even after my own birthday. Sorry, Hermione.
> 
> If my calculations are correct, this story takes place in 2011, a few days before Hermione's thirty-first birthday.

Luna Lovegood Potter closed up her laptop, took off her stylish tin foil-lined homburg with her press card tucked into the band—true, she didn't often write for _The Quibbler_ these days, but it was important to remember where she came from—and laid the hat on her desk. “Isn't it terribly funny,” she mused aloud, “that the only necessity for a Wizard or Witch to successfully use a computer would prove to be a tin foil hat? After all the years, and all the fried circuitry, and all the attempts to harden devices with magical wards or physical shields... Well, I suppose I do feel a little bit sorry for the frustrated researchers, but it's so very amusing.”

The floor creaked behind her, and Luna spun about in her chair and launched herself across her study. “My darling Hermione! You're home! Oh, how I've missed you!”

Hermione Granger Potter spread her arms and caught her sister-wife. “I've only been gone eight hours, Luna-love.” She pretended to sigh and tousled the little blonde's unbound hair before kissing her on the top of her head.

“Which is more than long enough. You and Harry and Ginevra have been away all day, and our Millicent has been down in her office swearing at the blank page with only a brief break for lunch and a cuddle, so I've been all by myself but for the Elves and the animals. I felt so _very_ alone and abandoned and generally neglected and  suchlike things of that nature.” 

“Poor my love.”

Luna nuzzled her.  “ In the absence of my darling spice, I was forced to spend an inordinate amount of time being productive.  My monograph on the Muggle knowledge of magical fauna as indicated by their advertising is  ready to submit , and I actually found the time to write that short piece  about the Internet  that  Mandy Brocklehurst asked me to put together for her new Muggle Studies curriculum . Does that tell you how lonely I was? ”

“All joking aside, love, I missed you as well,” Hermione murmured. “You're much better company than anyone in the Crown Magical Prosecution Service.”

Luna giggled. “Even Susan?”

“Yes, love, even Susan. She's a good friend and an able colleague, but she's completely enraptured over their latest offspring. Don't get me wrong, Delia and Rosemary Longbottom are adorable, but I don't need to hear all the details of nursing and diaper changes. I swear, if Susan likes every aspect of child-rearing _so_ very much, maybe she ought to take a few years off to watch the twins and their brother, have her own babies, and let Hannah get back to work at the Department of Mysteries.”

“Oh, sweetest heart, I'm flattered! Susan does have such nice breasts, after all.”

“Silly little Luna! Don't you know the only breasts I'm interested in are my wives' ones?”

“Really? I've certainly seen you nibble and nuzzle and suckle on our Harry's nipples, and that as recently as last night.”

Hermione chuckled and tickled Luna's belly. “My sweet silly girl! You know that's not what I meant.”

“And what if I did know?” Luna kissed Hermione in the hollow of her throat. “Will you punish me?”

“Hmm, maybe. At least if you'd like me to.” Hermione tangled her fingers in Luna's mane and leant down to kiss her wife on the lips. As they kissed, she traced Luna's spine, down to the waistband of her tie-dyed sarong. “Mm, I'm surprised you're wearing clothes in the house, darling. Are you turning conservative now we've all had our thirtieth birthdays?”

“Well, I was writing serious scholarship, so I thought I should dress in a professional fashion whilst I worked. I wore my hat and my sarong, and I even tried a pair of Harry's old spectacles until they started to make my eyes hurt.”

“Oh, yes, very professional indeed. Not suitable for prosecuting a case before the Wizengamot, of course, but _I_ like your professional look, sweet Luna. ”

Luna wriggled against Hermione, enjoying the texture of the brocade trim on the brunette witch's smart business robes and the interesting way it tugged at her nipples. “And I like yours, love, despite how over-dressed it has you. I do find I'd rather not share the sight of my spice in their bare skin with anyone but my spice themselves, most especially with that rather tiresome and dried up pack of prudish persons in the Wizengamot. And speaking of legal matters, dearest senior wife of mine, I certainly wouldn't use my safety word if you should decide my boldness has earned me a few minutes tied up and being tickled. But I think that first I should tell you of my latest discovery from the Internet.”

“Oh?”

“It seems that the Muggles have made a holiday of your birthday.”

“Really?”

“Yes. They call it 'International Talk Like a Pirate Day,' or so I'm given to understand.”

“For Merlin's sake! I was never a pirate. I had a letter of marque and reprisal, so I did.” A hint of her grandparents' West Country accent crept into Hermione's voice.

“Yes, my love. Don't forget, I was there.”

“Aye, me hearty,” Hermione purred. “Dost 'ee think I could forget the fun we had on the Queen Boudica's Revenge? Must needs I remind thee?”

As always, Hermione's seafaring speech patterns did fascinating things to Luna's hormones, and she was beginning to wish she'd left her sarong on the desk along with her hat and computer. “I'd not say no to your reminding me, my lovely Captain Hermione, but I know none of us could ever forget. The days of tracking down and seizing the Death Eater sympathisers' merchant ships, the nights of wild abandon on the high seas with my own dear Captain, our handsome First Mate Harry, sweet Ginevra, and darling Millicent...”

“Arr, me love, them was the days, wasn't they? I know I be doing good works in the CMPS, but I do be missing the open seas and the times we had there.” Hermione shivered, and seemed to come back to herself. “But seriously, I do hope it's merely chance. If it's not, I might be forced to have some words with the responsible parties. Even if I weren't personally involved, it's important to maintain the distinction between honest seafarers operating under a letter of marque and reprisal and mere common freebooters.”

“To be fair, darling, 'Talk like a Privateer Day' might not have the best ring to it.”

Hermione sighed and kissed Luna's nose. “Thank you for reminding me to be fair, my love. I suppose we mustn't forget that Her Majesty's Muggle government signed the Paris Declaration of 1856. They've rather forgotten about privateering, haven't they?”

Luna took the opportunity to reach up and free Hermione's hair from its neat French twist so she could comb her fingers through the lovely mass of dark brown curls.“That's true, but as I think about it, the Americans were the ones who invented the holiday. They never signed the Declaration, even though they've not issued a letter of marque since 1815... well, at least their Muggle government hasn't. The United States Magical Congress issued one to Algernon Swallowtail Swiffold in 1948, authorising him to sail his airship against the Flying Saucer People, but they rescinded it as soon as they sobered up and remembered their own Department of Muggle Relations had invented the story of the Roswell Crash as part of the cover-up after Swiffold's uncle Merwin Swallowtail crashed his own airship and didn't manage to get things cleaned up before the Muggle Army Air Force came round to investigate.”

Hermione chuckled. “Luna, my darling, with that memory of yours, sometimes I think _you're_ the one who should  have taken to the legal profession.”

“But I'd have to wear clothes, wouldn't I? Both a top and a bottom? Unless we moved to New Atlantis, and that would be awkward because Gillyweed makes our Millicent break out in spots.”

“Perish the thought!In any event, let's hope it's only a coincidence.”

“Well, of course it's a co-incidence, my dearest Hermione. International Talk Like a Pirate Day coincides with your birthday.”

Further discussion was temporarily halted  when Harry James Potter threw his arms about both  women . “Hey, my loves, I'm home.”

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione squealed and kissed him. Luna loved Hermione's squeals. _True, I love_ _nearly_ _every_ _single_ _thing my spice do, but there is something so_ _very_ _especially_ _nice about hearing a high Ministry official squeal like a schoolgirl._

When his mouth was free, Luna took her own turn.  Only after he'd been thoroughly kissed did she turn to verbal communication. “ Thank you for coming home, dearest husband. How was your day?”

“It was a typical day at the DMLE, sweetest of Lunas. Old Mickey Ferguson Flooed the Duty Auror this morning to tell us the Muggles were violating the Statute of Secrecy by driving their cars past his house.”

Hermione laughed. “Are things really so slow these days that a routine call to the Duty Auror ends up in your hands, love?”

“Well, in the morning Lucretia Dodgson had the desk, and she reminded Ferguson that he's the one who chose to live in Brentford rather than Hogsmeade and the Statute of Secrecy only means we keep our magic secret from them, not that they keep their technology secret from us. But five hours later he called in a complaint that some rogue Wizard or Witch had gone to work for the Muggles and made giant mice that danced in the mirror he'd bought at a jumble sale and taunted him.”

Hermione giggled. “Oh dear. I think I see where this is going.”

“Yes. He'd got a badly magicked television, and all it would show was Disney cartoons. Unfortunately, by that time Dodgson was at lunch and Vivian Stebbins was on duty. He's a Pureblood, and never heard of a cartoon in his life. In his after-action report, he mentioned that he'd thought Telly Vision was the Muggle equivalent of Celestina Warbeck. And apparently he grew up hearing how his mother's uncle Ethelred Murgatroyd was killed and eaten by rodents of unusual size whilst prospecting for a treacle mine in the Transvaal. So, he sent Ashley Dimmesdale and Samantha Clemens to look into the situation.”

Luna remembered those names. “Dimmesdale and Clemens... weren't they the Hufflepuffs who thought they could save everyone having to buy ink if only they could scare the Giant Squid into releasing some? I think it was mine and Ginevra's Third Year? They borrowed one of those little boats that the school keeps for the First Years, and if memory serves there were clown costumes involved.”

Harry nodded. “That was them. So, Stebbins thought they should go in disguised as Metropolitan Police Service Authorised Firearms Officers, just to help smooth things over if the mice responded violently and they needed to cast blasting curses. He got them kitted out with Muggle constables' uniforms from the 1890s, a fishing net, and a couple of flintlock muskets from the arms locker. But when they arrived in Brentford Ferguson thought they were in league with the mice and animated his neighbour's garden sculptures to help him fight back. I ended up having to go out and supervise the cleaning up.”

“Poor darling,” Hermione murmured, stroking his hair. “This sort of thing is why I've been pushing to make Muggle Studies mandatory.”

Harry chuckled. “You're absolutely right, my love, but I'm afraid it turns out Stebbins earned an Outstanding on his Muggle Studies NEWT in 1994. The examiner thought he should revise and expand his essay on 'Why Muggle Roads Are Covered In Tar' for submission to a peer-reviewed journal. In any case, he'll spend next week doing a refresher course with Muggle Relations.”

“And thanks to you, dear Hermione,” Luna said, “the department staff are all Muggleborn or Muggle-raised. I'm sure that by teatime on Wednesday he'll know his Opal Fruits from his Opel cars and his Rolling Stones from his Bay City Rollers and by Friday he'll have the better part of _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ off by heart.”

The Floo roared up, and Luna heard Ginevra's footsteps on the stair. “I'm home, dear hearts!” Moments later, her favourite ginger added herself to the scrum.

“And how is—”

“Our darling Ginevra?” Through years of practise, Harry and Hermione had learnt to complete each others' sentences without a pause, much as Ginevra's twinned brothers did. _Excepting, of course, the fact that_ _it's sexy, rather than annoying,_ _when my wonderful_ _husband and wife_ _do_ _it_ _._ Luna chose to ask the same question non-verbally, and kissed her. After all, Ginevra, who'd said this morning she expected to spend most of the day on a broom out over the Fens, reporting on the tryouts for England's next World Cup team, was still wearing her flying leathers, and looked very kissable indeed. Luna's favourite colour scheme for Ginevra might be red hair and bare freckled skin, but she'd always appreciated red hair and black leather.

Hermione and Harry, having excellent taste, thought Ginevra looked deliciously kissable as well, and it was several minutes before their red-headed wife got round to speaking.

“Oh, I'm grand, thanks, my loves. The trials went well, and... well, don't tell Angelina and Katie, cos I wouldn't want them to get big heads or anything, but it looks as if this could be the best team we've fielded since the Sixties.”

“Excellent,” Harry said. “It would be nice to see England get a fair shot at the Cup.”

“It would be. And speaking of fair shots, or rather the opposite, Marcus Flint's little brother Paisley definitely did not make the cut for the Chaser line. He tried to improve his odds against Anastasia Crabbe with a quick jinx during the obstacle course.”

Harry frowned. “What a git! Even his brother wouldn't have stooped that low.”

Ginevra snickered. “And when the bone-headed twit realised that even if Angelina and Katie hadn't seen him I definitely had, he tried to hit me with a Conjunctivitis Curse.”

Harry growled low in his throat, which Luna, as always, thought very sexy. “Sounds as if I'll be paying young Mister Flint a visit. Even if there's not enough evidence to make it a DMLE matter, as Lord Potter I have the right and the duty to reply to attempted assault on a member of my family.”

“No,” Hermione said, “it sounds as if _we_ will be visiting him. Millie and I never did get our chance to keelhaul a scurvy lubber, and I'm sure Dobby and Winky would be delighted to assist us.”

“Oh, it's all right, my loves, really. It was childishly easy to dodge his spell, and I gave him a duck's bill when I knocked him off his broom and into the safety net. Angelina added duck feet and feathers before she sent an owl to the League offices. The Wasps have already sacked him, and not even the Cannons will hire him now, even if he does get his feet and lips back to normal before next year. Not to mention the Old Slytherins' network will have him blacklisted. He couldn't get a job sweeping floors in Malfoy's Mercantile Miscellany.”

“He'd better not,” Harry growled. “If he does, I might have to schedule them for a little extra scrutiny. Draco Malfoy can claim to be a legitimate businessman until he's blue in the face, but I'm sure there's _something._ I'll accept he's not a Death Eater thug like his dad, but that doesn't mean he's not dealing in smuggled goods just like his granddad.”

Ginevra patted Harry's arm. “Even if Malfoy felt Flint deserved a second chance after trying to curse his old friend's baby sister in the back, Pansy and Astoria would never let him. They know how close they came to losing their husband to the Dark Mark.”

“Fair enough,” Hermione said. “But Flint had better hope and pray none of us ever cross paths with him.”

“A twelve stone duck might raise too many questions, even in a Wizarding market or kitchen,” Luna mused, “but Su Li knows a chef in Sydney who specialises in making classic Chinese dishes of Australian megafauna. She tells me his Diprotodon _siu mei_ and Megalania _chow fun_ are divine. I wonder if he'd care to prepare Peking Bullockornis?”

Hermione grinned. “The Demon Duck of Doom? That would be a rather amusing way around the conservation of mass, wouldn't it?”

Luna beamed at her. “It would be. I'm not sure I'd eat it, but it would be an entertaining, novel, and appropriate fate.”

Ginevra kissed all three of them. “Thank you, loves, but really, there's no need to kill the idiot. I'm fine, no harm was done, and I'm sure his family will put him to work supervising their Greenland lichen farm for the next thirty years, unless they can think of something worse. Marissa Flint is Head of House since her elder brother and father both bought it in the war, and she's not one to suffer fools, gladly or otherwise. If she hadn't lost too many kin already, I reckon she would've arranged an accident for Paisley years ago.”

Booted footsteps echoed on the stairs. “What cheer, my loves?” Millicent called. “I finally got through the most frustrating chapter I've written all year, and it sounds as if you're all discussing arranged accidents in our Luna's study, so I thought I'd come and see if you needed my perspective.” She stepped into the room and hugged her spice. _Mm, she's_ _in_ _riding_ _dress_ _. I expect that means she was working on an historical._ _If she must wear clothes, I do approve._

Ginevra giggled. “As a Slytherin?”

Millicent kissed her. “I was thinking more of my perspective as a mystery author, sweet Ginny, but sure, my old House did have its share of accidents that wanted arranging. And believe me, pretending to be very nearly as thick as Malfoy's Rocks That Made Grunting Noises was a great help that way.”

Hermione smiled. “Ah, yes. From Second Year right through Seventh, nobody ever figured out who was our ally in Slytherin up until that lovely December evening when you shot Alecto and Amycus Carrow with your great uncle's Webley, liberated the Sorting Hat and the Sword of Gryffindor, hopped on a Thestral, and came to join us in Potter's Hold. Good times, good times.”

Millicent grinned. “Aye. There's nothing like risking your life to steal two priceless artefacts, being detected by incestuous sadists, dodging the Killing Curse, returning fire with an eighty year old pistol, riding through a midnight snowstorm on a skeletal carnivorous horse, and getting engaged to the loves of your life in the great hall of an Old Family fortress before you even have a chance to clean up. I'd be tempted to put it in a book, but it's too personal. In any case, the critics would say it was unrealistic and then I'd have to duel them, which would be a waste of time I could better spend writing or making love to the four of you.”

“And speaking of good times, dearest Captain Hermione,” Harry said, “it's your birthday on Monday. Would you like to take a week off and go for a sail in the Revenge?”

“I'd love to, but our work...”

Harry laid a finger on her lips. “Arthur's been begging both of us to take a holiday since sometime this spring. Neither of us has a major case right now, and my deputy and yours are equally capable of standing in for us next week. Ginny and Luna and Millicent have all confirmed that they're able to get away...”

Ginny nodded. “I'll file my story on the Chaser tryouts tonight, and then I'll be free and easy until a fortnight from Friday when Angelina and Katie start putting the Beater candidates through their paces.”

“And I've just finished the rough draft of _An Assembly of Arsonists,_ ” Millicent said. “It needs to sit, and I'll be better off for the break. I'll need to take a few hours to make the final edits on the novel Padma asked me to write for her new interstellar romance imprint, but other than that I'll be delighted to give all my attention to my spice and our ship.”

“The only thing I really need to work on in the next while is a piece on the Stealthy Pelican for the _Journal of Magizoology_ , and I'm sure that will only be improved if I write it stretched out on the forecastle in my favourite seafaring costume, being ogled by my spice, and taking regular breaks to ogle them.” Luna said. “Dearest lovely Hermione, won't you please take a little time to be our Captain again?”

Happy tears welled up in Hermione's eyes. “Arr, me loves! There's no captain on the Seven Seas has ever had a better crew. We'll set sail with tomorrow morning's tide. I fear I can promise ye no plunder...”

“But when we're together we've all the treasure we need,” Harry said, and kissed her.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're wondering why Hermione was the captain, it's pretty simple--Harry had his fill of being a leader during the whole Voldemort business, and was happy to let his senior wife take charge and to take his own turn supporting her for a change. 
> 
> Not to mention that she can speak in a West Country accent, and a Surrey one just doesn't have the same impact when you're demanding a vessel stand to and prepare to be boarded.


End file.
